Post by lightningfast on Jul 18, 2017 22:48:34 GMT -8
Doctor Mordecai von Richter
Appearance
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Physical Description: Mordecai von Richter, usually just referred to as “Doctor von Richter” or “Mordecai”, is a man of five feet, nine inches tall (though his poor posture makes him appear shorter), whose eyes seem to twitch at the slightest perturbation as they dart around the room. It’s easy to tell, even from looking at him, that he is perhaps not “all there”. His medium-length black hair is messy and knotted, his crooked teeth grind visibly grind together with stress, and his skin is frighteningly pale from lack of sunlight.
Attire: Doctor Mordecai wears an oft-bloodstained white coat with all manner of medical tools tucked into its folds. Forceps, scalpels, knives and vials of mysterious liquids can be produced from its many pockets when the doctor requires them. The doctor wears rounded spectacles and a small cap, as well as thick rubber gloves stained with a grim dark red ichor. Around his waist he wears a belt that carries yet more various implements, including several large bottles of rubbing alcohol and a steel bonesaw. Spectacles cover his eyes, though he allows his earlobe-length hair to flow freely.
Quirks:
Manslayer: Being a practiced surgeon, Mordecai knows all the weak points on the human body, and will waste no time in exploiting them in every way possible.
Healer’s Gift: Insane or not, Mordecai von Richter is one of the most accomplished surgeons in the region. Years in the Hamlet’s Sanitarium, even before the various follies of the Ancestor, have honed his medical skills to the point where he can fix even the most grievous of wounds.
Necromania: It seems that no matter the situation, Mordecai will always try to find the time to dissect and defile a perfectly good corpse. To him, the stench of rotting flesh is absolutely intoxicating, and dismantling a body is one of the many ways in which he relieves stress. Others find it... unsettling, to say the least.
Biography:
Synopsis: A surgeon whose dabbling in eldritch magics has taken a toll on his mind. It’s all for the greater good, or so he tells himself...
Full
Eighteen years. That’s how long I spent in that stinking, rotting, husk of a town just a few miles north of Dessau. My family were simple farmers, nothing more. I lost my dear old parents to a plague, but the kindly old doctor in the town square took me in when I was just a wee boy of eight. He taught me everything I know, and gave me the tools to learn more. Truly, he was every bit the father as the one I lost... which is why it hurt so much to see him break down into nothingness. Perhaps I shall explain...
Since I was twelve, I have been learning how to piece back together a broken and bruised body into a happy and healthy man. The things I’ve seen. The things I’ve had to put up with, working in this pitiful degraded hospital. Each day, a peasant with a broken arm, or a missing leg, or a deadly infection. We tried so hard to save them... so very hard. But more often than not, they would wind up dead. Plague was rampant, and people dropped like flies around us. And despite our skills, my master and I... we could do nothing. One can only do so much with dull knives and rusty scalpels.
Of course, it didn’t matter what sort of disrepair we worked in. Each time we petitioned for aid from the stuck-up nobles for some form of assistance, funds to buy new supplies or hire more help, we were ignored. Seeing scores of the sick drove my old master to madness as he turned to the dark arts to heal the people of this land, sacrificing just a bit of his mind every time he did so. This would eventually lead to his death. Watching as those noble bastards sat on their fat arses, growing more deviant and decadent with each passing day made me sick. And as our little town got sicker and more squalorly, its people looked for someone to blame. My master had been suspected of witchcraft for a long time now, not that the people were wrong. But how quick they were to turn on him, and on me. They set fire to the old shack where we practiced our dark arts and medical miracles, and burned him alive. I barely escaped with my life.
I travelled around Europe for many years, reading and re-reading what few of my master’s notes I was able to save, and learning how to recreate his many unholy miracles. I met with... some success. But I found that each miracle that I performed came at a terrible cost. Weeks of nightmares, horrible pain... and that’s just what happened to me. I dare not repeat what happened to my patients. I came to the Darkest Manor to further my old master’s research into both the arcane and in medicine. So many sick and broken folks who need... fixing. So many wounds to stitch, teeth to pull... bits and pieces to replace. I’ll take one piece from you, one piece from him... a piece from her... a bit of eldritch magic, and you’ll be good as new. All magic requires a price... but is it truly so bad if a dead man pays it? I think not... it is all for the greater good, after all. Just as my master used to say before he went mad.
Misc. Notes: There always seems to be an odour of flesh and blood about Mordecai. Odd, isn’t it?
Skills & Equipment
Weapons: Falciform amputation Knife, Bonesaw
Armor: Doctor’s coat, padded leather
Other gear: Various medical supplies and gear. And some organs in jars.
Strengths: Medical knowhow and eldritch healing magic. Von Richter dabbles in what can only be called “blood magic”, sacrificing bits and pieces of victims and patients alike to heal others’ injuries. Despite his sadistic-seeming tendencies, there is a genuinely good person underneath all the gore.
Weaknesses: Those “miracles” he’s been working have been taking a toll on his mind and his morality. Though he’ll claim, time and time again, that it’s all for the greater good...
